Field Songs
by LulaNadeschda
Summary: Rosemary maybe, kinda, tended to get herself into trouble. Now she's setting back feminism by a few decades, plus she's pretty much a whore, but hey, anything to save the world. And these boys who keep on saving her. Dean/OC, eventual crossover with Walking Dead because Daryl Dixon , and the ZA is really the Croatoan virus. I'm basically making this up, all of it.
1. Animals in the dark

_**Rosemary's journal**_

_**Bobby Singer took my hints and asked me to move in. All that's left in my apartment is one change of clothes anyway. I think I can be useful here - the man can do anything but ruffle his own hair, cook a decent meal and stich up wounds on his back. He doesn't want me to be in danger he says, but I highly doubt there's a safer place in the world than Bobby's guest room. I'll be happier here.**_

The Winchesters were welcome guests, very welcome, more so than any other hunters. Of course, that didn't spare them Bobby's grumpyness, but she wasn't spared either, so when he snarled at them pretty much 2 hours straight the first time she met them, she was happy. Least the old bastard was fair.

She came home from a long shift, a really fun one, too. So she was drunk and overjoyed when she walked in and saw there was light in the kitchen, running in and practically jumping Bobby.

"Captain, I brought rum! Enough world-saving! Let's be pirates!"

...when she noticed two rather confused-looking sets of eyes look at her. Oh and some eyes they were. Some freckles and some shoulders, too.

"Well damn right Santa, I've been very good."

The prettier one looked amused, the taller one looked mostly weirded out from what she could tell. So she just extended her hand (weirded them out even more - what's with those bad manners on them hunters?) and introduced herself.

"Rosemary. Bobby's maid. Slash damsel in distress. Slash drinking buddy. Slash cook. And you two fine gentleman are..."

"Sam and Dean Winchester."

Oh.

"Well lemme fix you pretty, pretty boys something to eat. I've got steaks and if Bobby left anything, pie, and I can make hash browns, I guess. Or cereal. Steaks? I'll make steaks. I'd hate for you to go to bed hungry. My bed. Any bed. Steaks it is."

With that, she jumped off of Bobby's lap (Grumpy McGrumperson had only been looking grumpy the entire time she'd been making a fool of herself) and while bustling around in the kitchen, she heard the prettier one whisper to Bobby:

"Woah firecracker!"

and Bobby reply:

"Off-limits."

Damn you Gramps.

The night she began her courtesan-lifestyle, Sam had been needing something else, other than Bobby's advice and her patching up and a hot toddy. When she'd come back from the bar she'd seen him resting uneasily, twisting and turning, while his brother snored serenely next to him. She'd made herself a drink and sat down on the armchair to look at the boys, which, she figured, was probably crossing over into stalker territory, but she was drunk already and it was late and they were heroes in oh-so-pretty exteriors, she didn't care about the lines she crossed. Bobby had shouted down "Rose! You good?" The man needed her to be noisy when she got home. He usually woke up from her car pulling up, but she'd had the brains to leave it at the bar tonight, and now he didn't know whether that creaking sound downstairs had been her or some uninvited guest. She'd gone to the stair case and whisper-shouted up "Rough night gramps, I'm just having another drink!" He grunted something and she heard his footsteps heading back towards his bedroom.

Sam had been startled by that, she could make out his worried eyes in the dark. Dean had reflexively grabbed the gun under his pillow, but not woken up. The man was a phenomenon, from everything she'd heard. The man who'd saved the world, the boy with the demon blood staring right at her. She handed her drink, a stiff gin and tonic, to Sam. "You okay love?" she asked. He smirked. Apparently, her accent was funny to most of the hunters who came through, and Sam had said before that it reminded him of some chick they'd dealt with before. He took a sip of her drink and said "Yeah. I can't really sleep." Rosemary figured something out, then. She hadn't known the Winchesters long, hell, she hadn't known about the existence of demons and ghost and fucking _vampires_ hunters long, and if she had ever suspected anything, she'd hoped it'd be more like a Buffy-kinda-scenario. A chosen one with superpowers. Not mere men throwing their lives away. Bobby talked about the boys a lot, when they did inventory, when he took her out to teach her shooting, when she cooked for him while he crunched over his books, sometimes interrupting himself to ask things like "Hey what's that mean?" and showing her a word in cyrillic. And Sam, well, he was all sturdy and kind and pretty, but his big brother was watching out for this rhino, and he'd lost everything in the metaphorical and real fires that had made up his life, and maybe, she thought, it was hard to sleep when you feel that powerless. That's gotta suck.

"Me neither." she'd said. "Scary night, isn't it? Yellow sky, blue clouds." He'd only looked at her. She wasn't known for being scared easily. After all, she'd practically forced herself into this life. Bobby hadn't wanted her to be around the monsters. But back when she met him, the prospect of dying had been the only thing to give her any kind of relief, and so she'd chosen the darkness and the danger over the plane ticket. She even thought herself that she sounded ridiculous. "You don't have to be afraid. We're all here." Sam said, sleepily pointing over at Dean. "Go to bed Rose, call down if anything weird happens." She'd taken a step forward and sat down snuggled into the curve of his belly. "Maybe, you could hold me?" She didn't look at him but she'd felt his glare on her neck. Oh boy this was wrong. She didn't fancy Sam, well, not more than any breathing woman naturally would, but maybe he'd go to sleep once he'd have something to hold on to. All her bandages and all her sandwiches wouldn't make him strong if he worried through the night. "For a while?" She forced his arms open for her, and pressed herself into the warmth of his enormous, hairless chest. Sam hesitated to close his arms around her, but eventually, his breathing evened out, his hand fell down to the dirty couch and he slept fitfully curled around her. There, she thought. You can protect someone, too, big boy.

Nothing ever happened between Sam and her. She'd figured out what he needed, a little sister to take care of, a girl that was close to him and didn't die. From then on, she snuck up to him when Dean was in the shower to hug him so tight neither of them could breathe, and she drunkenly stumbled right into his embrace at night, her back turned to him, his sleep deep and quiet. Of course, there was a downside: now she'd have to actively try and stay alive.

_**Rosemary's journal**_

_**My newly developed care-program for hunters is going well, the only way of keeping track of the guys would be crossing off names in Bobby's phone book. New rule, though: no judgement, ever. Mark likes to be whipped. It's harder than it looks. Next day, he went and killed 12 vamps on his own. So, he can have a good whipping anytime he wants. Bobby walked in on me and Grey making out at the bar. Fifth time, fifth hunter, if I'm correct. Never says a word about it, bless his grumpy soul.**_

Bobby had saved her life, that night at the bar, and she was repaying him porkchop by potatoe salad by swept floor by stitched up flesh wound. But now she knew there were more like him, and every time one left their house, for the whole two years the two of them lived like this, she stared at them driving off in awe. Had she ever known there were men fighting for ordinary people like her, people probably not worth saving, people so blissfully unaware of the things in their closets, she'd have stopped voting at once. Gathered her strongest friends. Gotten herself a crossbow and melted her engagement ring into silver bullets. She'd have burned everything she had and sought exactly the life she had now: the life of the keeper. The woman giving them some comfort, some joy, a hot meal and a kiss goodnight. But, shit had had to hit the fan first, her taking that new-agey trip stateside, meeting that weird guy whose name she didn't even remember now, working at that bar, being attacked by a fucking vampire (although to be fair, she'd kinda asked for it) and Bobby Singer riding in with that ridiculous trucker hat saving the day. And what had been left of her will to live.


	2. Mary Magdalene

**We're still not meeting Daryl, but we do get some sex! And some jealous but too cool to admit it Dean Winchester. Have I mentioned this is my first attempt at writing fan fiction EVER? be kind!**

**-**

**Rosemary's journal**

**I've been accepted to nursing school - damn right I'm a healer. I need to pull my weight when it comes to hunting. Bobby's been teaching me how to shoot (damn, Gramps is an excellent shot, it's impressive) and Dean sometimes practices knive throwing with me. My latin's way better than theirs, thanks ex-husband, but still. Actual medical skills will be useful round here, what with the blood and the injuries and all.**

Getting Dean to sleep with her was easy. It was a hot sticky night, and she was half way through her first year of nursing school. It had earned her several titles among the hunters: "Bobby's butcher" was her favourite, with the variation "The British butcher", then there was "Ocean's eleven" for all the supplies she stole from the hospital, "Nurse Ratchet", of course, and everybody had been calling her "Mama" pretty much since day one. Sam was in a jolly mood, she'd anticipated them coming in from a hunt two states over at about 2 am, and so, when she'd come home from her night shift, she fixed steaks and apple pie for Dean, and spinach salad and cookies for Sam, ice cold beers, and stole a bottle of Glenmorangie at the bar. Sam was happy - he'd dealt the deadly blow and he was getting leafy greens for dinner, so he was downright giddy, while Dean was sweaty and nervous. The night was hotter than a normal South Dakota night, probably another apocalypse coming, Rosemary thought, shrugging. She'd known the Winchesters long enough by then to know Dean had simple needs - red meat, whiskey, loud music, sex. Really, easy fixes she herself would turn to if she was so deep in this life.

She had toyed with the idea of becoming a stripper millions of times, but never gone through with it. But she fancied herself good at pouring honey over her voice, good with bottles of hard liquor, good at leaning forward only slightly too much, just enough to make a man imagine the top button of her blouse popping open. Dean was even easier, although this was probably the first time he didn't actively try to get into her pants – she'd gotten the "last night on earth"-line a couple of times and never fallen for it, always replied "I'm sure you can arrange for another, honey." Most of the time, she thought what the boy needed was confidence, not a sweaty romp. Now, as he couldn't even hold his hands still, she brushed his shoulders as she walked past to fetch him another beer, swayed her hips a little more than usual when she knew he was looking, and later, when everyone had gone to sleep, went downstairs and whispered Dean's name until he followed her upstairs to her bedroom.

Yes, getting Dean to sleep with her was easy. Treating it as a service to the man who kept saving the world was harder. His kisses had an addictive sweetness to them, the tiny drops of sweat on his shoulders as he leaned in made his skin look metalic, but he was hot to the touch. He didn't make a noise, his breathing coming at a fast, steady pace, and he looked at her with dark green eyes full of fear and sentiment and honesty and maybe, a little, romance, the entire time he didn't let his eyes leave her's. His hands were rough no matter how gently he caressed her, her thighs marked with pink scratches, her skin responding to every touch. Dean Winchester, there was no doubt about it, was very, very good at this. The boy should go pro, Rosemary thought when he licked a trail down her belly, bit her milky inner thighs before roughly shoving her legs apart and finally, _finally _kissing her pussy whole as if it were a mouth.

_**Rosemary's journal**_

**Sam and Dean are coming in more frequently, I like to think because of me. Dean is unusually serious. Drinks too much, but so do Bobby and I. I'm messing around with black magick, not getting anywhere really.**

"You've been gettin' around I hear." Dean said as nonchalantly as he could, Rosemary curled up in his arms and sucking on a cigarette. Bobby hated her smoking inside the house. She figured there were demons out there, and angels, and all kinds of things trying to kill anyone and especially them. So, cigarettes? Awesome.

"You hear?"

"And see. You and Sam. You and Mark, I heard. You and Perry. Hunters talk."

"Only good things, I hope."

"Not the point."

"That a problem?" She kicked off the blankets, hoping he'd be in a better mood if she was fully naked in plain sight.

"Well, no, I guess." Dean shifted a little. It was getting hot in Rosemary's small room.

"What's the matter then, pretty darling?"

"Is it true? You sleeping with all these hunters?"

"Here's a deal. A straight answer, an explanation to boot, for a straight answer."

"Alright." Dean sighed.

"Yeah. All true. All of them. And probably some you never heard of." Almost a year, now, since Dean started acting differently, and almost a year she's been pretending she was doing this for him, when really, she almost loved sleeping in his sticky soft arms more than the sex. And that makes 21 months of sleeping with hunters, and even though she never even kissed Sam, they'd started to add up.

"What the fuck? That some kind of sport for you? Playing Bobby's housewife and fucking everyone that passes through? See if you can get one from every state?"

"Calm down, you idiot."

"Idiot? Have you slept with my brother, too? I really gotta say, Rose, I didn't take you to be that much of a whore."

"You feel better after you've been here, right? You get Bobby's grumpy father figure, and you get a good meal, and you get a naked chick. Right? Does life feel a little more worthwile after you've come to Sioux Falls?"

"So what?"

"You think you're the only one out there who gave up everything, and keeps losing things and people and never gets to keep anything because you'd rather fight to keep the world spinning?"

Rosemary lit another cigarette. Nobody ever asked for her reasoning on this. Some hunters had even left money on her nightstand - she'd put it in a bankaccount that she and Bobby used to wire money to hunters in desperate situations. And to pay bonds.

"Those guys are just like you. Without them, half the world would've gone to shit by now. And in turn, they lead the worst fucking lifes I can picture - no home, no woman, no friends, nothing. No money. You just have a car and your brother, but every once in a while, you need a woman to touch you and you need a homebaked pie, and you deserve everything you want."

Dean sighed.

"And so do they."

"Rose. Why in the world would you sleep with all these guys because they save other people? Last time I checked you weren't very keen on, you know, people."

"Yeah well it's people who make hot pockets. And gin. And write books. And The Clash were people and so are the Black Keys."

"You should listen to yourself - your justification for being Mary Magdalene is that The Clash were people."

"Yes. Absolutely, yes."

Dean took her cigarette. He rarely smoked, only when he was drunk, but trying to reason with this nutcase had him as exhausted and dizzy as if he were.

"Look, Dean. All I'm trying to do is give good men a reason to go on. Is that going to be a problem between us?"

"For the record, you're insane and ridiculous."

"Guilty."

"But I think I can live with that. It's not like I was going to propose."

Rose forced herself to shrug it off. It was not like she would have said yes. Probably not.

"Yeah well whatever. I shower inbetween and I insist on condoms."

"What?"

"Whatever, pretty darling. My turn."

"Yeah alright. Shoot."


	3. Bad Moon Rising

Rosemary was, unfortenately, excited about a looming apocalypse. Too much Buffy-watching, maybe, or maybe that whole will-to-live-issue boiling up again, or maybe she was looking forward to the boys stepping up to their full potential. Things didn't change much after Dean and Sam revealed waht they knew to Bobby. They started to prepare, Rosemary in particular started to pick up more combat-practice and reading up on living a fully self-sustained life. She was determined to keep the boys alive as long as she could.

**Rosemary's journal**

**E-mail from my ex-husband today. Asks how academia's going. Replied: "At the moment, I am researching magic spells, stealing surgical instruments, making mean Mojitos and collecting books on knitting, how to make molasses, and how to gut chickens. Never been happier. Hope shit works out for you, say hi to McCarthy for me - Viggo Mortensen made even him bearable."**

**Library's stocked. Books on everything now, I can teach myself how to make cheese, how to spin yarn, how to make maple syrup. Buying flour daily. We're not scared as long as we're busy. Sam and Dean call in every day. Bobby doesn't talk much. I want to warn my regulars and the guys at school, but then, mass hysteria never helped anyone.**

**Maybe I should've warned Dan, at least. Not knowing though, he'll die quickly with his nose buried in a book. Just the way he always wanted to.**

It was beginning to get colder. Rosemary had two more weeks to go, and then she'd be _done. _RN, baby. She didn't really think she was gonna get a job at a hospital, if so, part time at the most, only so she could keep stealing morphine and gauze for the boys. She'd kept her second job the entire time, cutting her hours back to 15, two shifts, a week, even though Bobby never accepted rent from her and insisted on her writing grocery lists so he could go and buy them. And there she was, behind the bar, pouring a Jack and Coke for Neil, a regular who shared her ancestry, when Neil became something else right in front of her eyes. She knew what it was, knew what was coming, knew Dean had been right. Shit, Dean, the Winchesters were in Indiana, or somewhere, last time Sam had texted her had been from Colorado, where would this have started? She grabbed her sword (a gift from Bobby) from under the bar and yelled "Everybody out, I'm closing up." The men looked at her like she was crazy. "Do I look like I'm kidding? All your tabs are on the house, now move!" Neil stayed, staring at her with yellow eyes, growling, snarling, baring his teeth - she chopped his head off. Immensely satisfying, that, she thought. Bloody amazing. Goo oozed from the cut and she walked around the bar to inspect the helpless, yet "alive" head on the dirty floor. Don't suppose I'll get around to mopping tonight, though, and she speared the head on her sword, when a familiar flutter of wings sounded from behind her.

"Hello, Rosemary."

"Cas."

And with that, she stood in Bobby's kitchen, and Grumpy Gramps muttered "Thank fuck the maid is alive." under his breath. Asshole.

"Sam and Dean? Perry, Mark, have you heard anything? Where did it start? Cas! Bobby! What is it?" The fear was starting to settle in. Chopping Neil's head off and Cas' zapping her all over the place had taken the edge of, but now she was in her own kitchen and an angel had apparently thought it was necessary to get her here ... or had gotten an order from an ordinary human to do so.

"Rose. We should probably spend the night downstairs."

"Where are the guys? Bobby, answer me! Is this what I think it is?"

"Croatoans." Cas said matter of factly.

Deep breathe, she thought. Deep breathe. They'd known it was coming. But they hadn't quite figured out how to fight it.

Bobby finally cleared his throat and said "Sam and Dean are on their way. Cas was with them when... Sam barely made it. You should get your stuff downstairs."

"What about the others?" Rosemary had begun gathering her supplies when she realised Cas had probably healed Sam and she wasn't going to need a scalpel.

"I send a signal out. They all know what it is. I know Perry's met some already, Mark is in his hide out in New Hampshire. The others, we can only hope."

"Rose?"

"Yeah?" She hurried across the room picking up random items. Like she was gonna need instant iced tea down there.

"Can you drop the sword? And the ... head?"

When the Impala finally made its smooth noises in the driveway, Bobby and Rosemary jumped up and ran outside. Well, Bobby stopped running just before the door and put his grumpy-face look back on, but Rosemary crashed into the boys at full speed, unable to let go of Sam, who she had reached first, but unable to not cling onto Dean, too, so she pulled him in and dangled between the two for a good two minutes, until Dean soothed her: "It's alright Rose. Alive and kicking, see?" He smirked. She could've sworn he was feeling better now that the apocalypse had started. She still didn't let go, anyway, only now realizing in what danger they were, and that this was all about them, and that odds were neither one of them was going to make it through. Lucifer was, as Dean loved to put it, wearing their brother to the prom. Dean was gonna have to say yes to Michael to stop him. Or Sam would accept Lucifer himself. But just to make them speed up their decision-making, Lucifer had started the apocalypse a little earlier by releasing a zombie-fying, demon-y virus.

"Where's Cas?" Sam interrupted her thoughts.

"No idea, boy, get in here, NOW!" Bobby shouted from the doorstep. He was right. Dean nodded: "Yeah we should get some sleep. We've got a lot of work in the morning."


	4. Strict rules

Some redneck shows up at Casa Singer, yay!

...

Manning the radio set was Rosemary's job, along with getting breakfast going and peering over Bobby's shoulders every once in a while to correct one of Sam's or Dean's idiotic suggestions - "Why don't we erect a wall over here by the river?"

"Cause you can't very well built onto a riverbed, can ya?

"We should go all the way to here in the east."

"Yeah cause we've just got heaps of iron just lying around in the shed."

Rosemary was heaping scrambled eggs on Dean's plate when another hunter called in – Ross, usually worked with a girl named Lauren, preferred to stay East, really, really good with ghosts -

"Bobby Singer?" he croaked through the earpiece.

"It's Rosemary. How's New York doing?"

"Overrun by next week, I reckon."

"Well shit."

"Do we have any way of fighting them?"

"Ross? You hear me?" The line was getting dodgy.

"Yeah, tell me anything you guys know."

"Alright, they're as allergic to iron as any old demon is, salt works, too, but only for a while. You can't exorcise them, and you need to get them in the brain to kill them, but that you can with anything – bullets, wood, iron, silver, anything works. They have good hearing and they can smell you, don't fire guns, they'll come running."

"So they're easy to kill?"

"One by one, yeah. But we're looking at a fucking epidemic here."

"Can we burn 'em?"

"What'cha gonna do, set NYC on fire?"

"Well I'm sure evacuation's gonna start by tonight, once the people are gone..."

Rosemary looked at Bobby. Beggingly. Arson was her favourite. Only jail time she ever booked, had been arson. Although she was certain the fault actually layed with whiskey and also, the house had provoked her. Bobby nodded slowly.

"Well knock yourself out, Ross."

"Alright Rose, the Winchesters with you?"

"Yeah they're here. We're working on it. Phone in as soon as you learn anything, see anything, hear anything. Get your ass here if it starts to smell."

"Will do, Mama."

"Ross?"

"Yeah"

"They're smarter than they look. Be careful."

"Yeah. Over and out."

"He didn't even mention Lauren." The boys just nodded. They were gonna have to get used to that. She sat down.

"Alright, lay it on me."

"We use what's left of the fence around the back, fortify with iron bands, the iron gate out front, wooden wall with iron from here" Dean pointed at a patch of woods to the East of the house on the map "to here." He drew a line all the way to West, circling the house. Bobby's been working on the gate for a couple of months, it just needed to be erected. And Rosemary figured, that all would work. Quickly, too.

"You're not doing that though, are ya?"

"No. We're going into town, tell people to get somewhere safe, kill any Croatoans we can find."

**Rosemary's journal**

**Bobby's not getting anywhere with the research. Cas has been gone for 3 days, won't answer any calls, not even Dean's. The boys are leaving again come morning, headed south. Perry called in, said he needed help down there. I'm still working on the shed to hold the chickens - they're still in the house and pissing me off.**

**5 days later**

**Got news that Ross didn't make it out of Chicago. Perry and Dean already left, Sam, Bobby and I are to follow tomorrow. Let's burn it down!**

**3 months later**

**Sam thinks he's found a way. Of course, one that's probably gonna kill him. Dean is in an unspeakable mood, he went out for 3 days by himself, and when he came back he crawled into my room at night like a famished animal. It's all I can do for him now. He won't kiss me, won't let me scratch his head, won't eat. He only fucks me, devours me, and takes the whiskey and the cigarettes I give him. Sam's plan would take a while to kick in to gear. It's been 6 months since Zombieland. We're alright on food, I think we could make it another year, once we get the hay in to feed the animals, who knows, this might work as a permanent solution, even. For us, but not for the rest of the world. Heroes like the Winchesters will never accept that. Dean will get better. I'm waiting for him every night, he always comes, always leaves me scratched up. bruised, covered in bite marks, but he will get better.**

Rosemary paved up and down the living room.

"Sit down Rose. They ain't coming faster if you work off a few pounds."

"The chili's burned."

"They'll be back."

"How in the world would you know that?"

"They will. Calm down."

They'd given word that the nest was cleared out at noon. It was midnight. The drive from Rapid City was about five hours in this world without speed limits, with Dean behind the wheel, more like three and a half, four, tops. Where the fuck where they?

Rosemary knew that she shouldn't get started with the worrying. There wouldn't be an end to this. Croatoans everywhere. They'd been losing good men for 8 months now, but there were some left. And Sam and Dean Winchester were still going strong, she didn't think they'd ever back down. They'd keep going to where the most trouble was, burn it down, and come back home to eat some Chili. Shit. The Chili.

She saw them driving up before they could give the signal - an "elaborate mechanism" built into the gate by Dean. A long string they had to pull on that would then catapult an empty tin of beans against the front door. Rose had been sitting by the window for 2 hours, sipping whiskey. But as she jumped out on the front porch and saw Sam walking up to the rope, she saw something else - a motorcycle pulling up to the Impala's driver's door. She turned around and yelled back into the house. "Bobby! They're not alone!"

They had strict rules. Humans were far more scary than Croats, so none of them were ever to bring strangers here, never to let anyone know where their fort was. They were well protected against the demon-zombies for now, but people would figure out a way to get in, and there was plenty of reason to want that: They had food, water, shelter, animals, weapons and a young woman. Bobby showed up next to her, handing her her shotgun, and they walked out, positioning themselves at either side of the gate while shooting glares at Sam. "You alright, boy?" Bobby howled. "No funky town!" Sam replied, using their code word. "then why the fuck would you bring someone here, ya idjit?" Bobby was raging now, but Rosemary scanned the man on the bike: rugged and dirtier than anyone she'd ever seen (and dirt was everywhere in this house full of boys). His hair reached down to his nose, and the right sleeve of his shirt had been torn off to fashion a tourniquet for a fleshwound on his biceps. He was older than Dean, but definitely younger than Bobby, at whom he was staring the entire time, completely ignoring her, although her gun was aimed at him. She only lowered it when she saw a little girl was riding on the bike behind him, no older than 12, with the most petrified look on her face Rosemary could imagine.

"Your boys shot my kid, sir!" The man yelled, voice as loud and gravelly as Dean's. A smoker, fuck yes.


	5. As if that wasn't enough

Rosemary and Bobby kicked into gear, opening the gate as fast as they could, and as Dean rolled past them, Rosemary saw he hadn't been talking about the girl on the back of his bike - there was a boy lying in the backseat of the Impala, covered in blood and dirt and goo. Didn't look conscious.

"Alright, Sam, carry him up to the new room" Rosemary yelled while running up to Dean who was just getting out of the car.

"You okay?"

"Fleshwound. I'll need stitches, later." He said, pointing at his forehead, where a slash gaped at his hairline.

"I'll get him. Back off." The man said, lifting the young boy out of the car and carrying him towards the front door.

"Sam? Injuries?" Rose asked breathlessly. Yeah there was a little boy who looked like he was barely breathing, but I'll be damned if I don't look after my own boys first, she thought. It had become instinct, no matter what. She owed that to the men who, in the time since the virus had gotten out, had carried her out of the burning ruins of Chicago, had taught her to build bombs, had jumped in between her and any sign of danger the instant they'd seen it.

"I'm alright Rose, look after the kid!" Sam shouted, already on his way inside the house."

"There's water boiling on the stove outside! Fresh towels in the closet downstairs! Here, Dean, press that to the wound." She handed him her last fresh towel in the kitchen, drenched in alcohol.

When she entered the "new" room, an improvised guest room in a part of the upstairs hallway, holding two bunkbeds stolen from camp "High Hopes" nearby, a closet with Rose's medical supplies, and two nightstands, Bobby and the stranger were standing at the bed where the boy was lying.

"Where's he shot? Any bites, any contact with Croats?"

The man looked at her like he only just realized there was someone present other than the men.

"Stomache, no bites. Croats?"

Rose just nodded. "Bobby get this guy some whiskey, I'll look at that cut there later. Now get out."

She slowly walked down to the living room an hour later, where the men and the little girl were gathered around the table. The stranger jumped up.

"He gon' be alrigh'?"

"He's knocked out from the pain, but nothing vital was hit, no bones, either. I got the bullet out, hooked him to saline, gave him morphine. When he wakes up, he'll still be singing."

The man nodded.

"What's worse than the shot; his leg's broken. Clean fracture, still, he ain't gonna be walking for a while."

"But he'll be fine?" The little girl uttered, her voice tear-stained, her face puffy and red.

"What's your name, honey?" Rose asked, but the girl looked down and didnt' reply.

"Sophia." Bobby said.

"Sophia, I'm Rose. Your brother will be just fine, it'll just take a while. You want a cup of hot chocolate?"

"No. Thank you ma'am."

Rose cracked a smile. "Alright then, Dean, get into the gyno chair, lemme fix that pretty face of yours. You ... what's your name, mate?"

"Daryl Dixon." He looked incredibly tired now, eyes dark and low in their sockets, hair greasy.

A redneck name if she ever heard one.

"Daryl, take off you shirt and down a couple of shots, you're next." Rose ordered while putting bread, butter and cold cuts on the table.

"And eat something. I don't want any fainting around here."

They worked hand in hand - Sam and Dean had showered while Rose had been fixing up the little boy, and now fresh water was boiling in her make-shift kitchen outside for Daryl and Sophia, and while Rose got to stitching up Dean, Bobby brought blankets upstairs to the new room and Rose's room, and Sam showed Sophia the bathroom and how to handle the large pots of boiling water - they didn't need to talk about little things like this, sleeping arrangements, for instance. They'd met in times of crisis, crisis was the easiest for them.

"So, my pretty darling, how'd you end up shooting a little boy?"

"Bumped into Earl, helped him out a few miles east of Rapid City, Croats had taken over the school and he wanted supplies from there ... oh, we brought you fabric and sugar. Kid came out of nowhere, looked like one of them. Lucky Sam's a crappy shot." Rose smiled. Sam was anything but a bad shot. He'd probably not been sure of his target, wanted to weaken him first. Good boy, that one.

"He'd walked away. Sophia was crying, he wandered off." Daryl Dixon cut in.

"You really should watch your son a little better."

"They ain't mine."

"How long you been on the road with em?"

"Bout three months."

"That makes them yours. Alright Deano, you're done." She pressed a kiss on his forehead next to his bandage. "Get over here, Daryl."

"She's a butcher. You better have another shot." Dean warned Daryl, waving the bottle of Jack in front of him, then taking another gulp himself.

"I'm almost a nurse. Stitches just fucking hurt, get over it, you baby."

The shock had started to wear off, and Rosemary gave Daryl a good once-over as he sat down in the chair at the head of the table. About forty, she guessed, but in good shape. Strong, sinewy upper body. He made it this long, even managed to keep two kids alive, but wasn't a hunter - they knew all the hunters that were left. So military, maybe, or a survivalist. Unlike both Winchesters, he didn't even flinch when she broke his skin with her needle without any local anesthetic - that shit was rare to begin with. She only used it for broken bones these days.

"So how'd they end up with you? Sophia and the boy?"

"Carl. We were with their parents, Were killed one by one. Bit, fell down a creek, died in childbirth, kidnapped." Daryl recounted.

"So they ain't even siblings?"

"Naw."

"You in the army?"

"Naw."

He wasn't very talkative.

"Right, Daryl, tell you what we're gonna do. You'll stay tonight. Sophia can sleep in my room, you'll share with Carl. Tomorrow, we'll talk again."

"Yeah. Lady, listen..."

"Rosemary."

"Rosemary. I need a favour."

"You're not getting any drugs."

"Naw," he almost smirked, "I'm fine on drugs. Can you talk to Sophia? Something's up, she's crying all the time, ain't talking to me. Dunno what's going on, can't stand her bitching any longer."

"Sure. How old is she?"

"12. I think."

"Alright. Take a shower, Daryl. Dean will show you everything. There should be sheets up in the new room. I'll go check on the girl." She smacked his shoulder lightly. "And leave your clothes down here."

Sophia sat on the mattress in Rose's room, she looked afraid to even move, shifting uncomfortably and holding on to a doll she must have brought.

"Hey, honey. You okay with sleeping in here?"

She didn't reply.

"I could make up one of the top bunks in Carl's and Daryl's room, if you'd like. I just thought some girls time would be nice, don't you think?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Just call me Rose, okay? Is everything alright? Daryl said you haven't been feeling well these past couple days."

"I'm... my tummy hurts. Here." Sophia pointed to her lower stomach.

"Oh honey. Is there any blood?"

"I think so. I don't know, ma'am."

"Rose. This the first time?"

"Yes."

"Honey, did your mom ever tell you you'd start bleeding when you're about this age?"

"No."

Damn Christians.

"It's normal. The pain's normal, too. I'd give you a few midol if I wasn't so low on 'em. But I've got some pie downstairs and I can make you a hot water bottle, that'll help. And sleeping in a bed will help, too."

"Why is it normal?"

"Every woman has it. It's the original sin." Great, now Sophia just looked confused. Rose sighed, got up to get a pad from the bathroom, and handed it, along with a clean pair fo panties, to Sophia.

"Look, it's been a long day. I'll explain it tomorrow, okay? Just know, you're not sick, and you're entitled to lie in bed all day tomorrow if you want. Put this into the panties. I'll sew up a few reusable ones for you. And now, I'll get you a hot water bottle for your tummy, okay, honey?"

"Okay."

Rose went downstairs and fixed the bottle, then went into the new room first. It was dark. All the boys had retired to bed, and all she could see were Daryl's eyes in the lower bunk to Carl's right.

"Daryl?"

"Ya."

"Sophia's gotten her period. You've now got a woman on your hands. Congrats."

Daryl didn't reply. Men, she thought. They're really starting to piss me off.

Rose let him be, making her round; first into Bobby's room, after a gentle knock on the door, she whispered "Night, Gramps.", then up to the second floor, where she hugged Sam tight and, when Sam looked away (decent of him) gave Dean a chaste kiss on the lips.

Dean continued to share a room with Sam rather than her, and they didn't exchange any PDA. Really, everything was the way it had been before, except there were no other hunters left that Rose slept with. And she'd liked his kisses the best all along anyway. Rose tried to think about all this as little as possible, figuring she was luckier than anyone else, stuck with the strongest men she knew in a house fit for an apocalypse and getting to sleep with a fucking male model every once in a while. She settled into bed, listening to Sophias calm and steady breath. Well, they'd saved a little boy tonight, and there'd be anger and discussions about it tomorrow, cause some guy with a crossbow was sleeping in the hallway outside her room. Why she kept sleeping with Dean Winchester didn't seem to matter in an apocalyptic world anymore than it did before.


	6. Family

She was up second, she always was, always half an hour after Bobby, who got the water going in the outside kitchen and started grinding coffee in the pestle and mortar. Rosemary'd always been resourceful, and they'd expected this to be like the end of the world and prepared to live self-substainingly, but since the croats had taken over, she'd become downright ingenious. The coffee beans were stolen, of course, in those first couple of days when Sam, Dean and Cas were busy trying to rescue everyone they could. Rose had taken one of Bobby's trucks and driven to all the central markets in all the towns she could find - DesMoines, Omahao, Sioux City. She'd brought back everything she could grab - tons of coffee, flour, oil, powdered milk, sugar, dried beans and canned vegetables and fruits. There was enough coffee for the four of them for at least another year in the neighbour's shed. Poor James. Didn't make it. But now they had that shed - they only needed to fence it in, or better yet, build a proper wall around the perimeter, including the river. Those were the kinds of dreams girls had these days, Rosemary thought. A wall. She remembered dreams of meeting rockstars and travelling to Cuba - she really didn't want to go there anymore. Billy. another hunter, had said it was basically decomposing as a whole.

"Morning, Gramps!" she tried to sound as cheerful as she could, walking out to the kitchen where Bobby was waiting by the (stolen) french press.

He grumbled something in response, but at least he poured her a mug of coffee. Rose sat down on the bench and pulled her tobacco from her boot. Yeah, she'd stolen tobacco, too. Driven to every damn 7-11 she could find. No use giving it up in a world like this, she figured. Booze, too. Bottles and bottles of Whiskey and Vodka down in the basement. Still, she needed to figure out where she'd get hops to brew beer. That would be so awesome.

"You check up on the boy?"

"Checked if he was breathing, yeah."

"Well?"

"He is."

"Halle-fucking-luja" Bobby sneered.

"You gonna have a go at me, Gramps? It was Sam and Dean who brought 'em home."

"We shouldn't have let 'em in. You coulda treated him outside, coulda dropped 'em off somewhere safe."

"And where is that, apart from here?"

"Now what do we do?"

"Feed 'em breakfast. Wait for the boys, talk to them."

"How long til the kid can walk?"

"Couple of weeks. Clean fracture, but he's got a cast and he's not getting any more morphine, so he's gonna be in a world of pain."

Bobby went back to the improvised stove top, sitting on top of something that Dean built, but that actually worked - a metal construction that held a fireplace. Caveman-style, that was Rosemary's cooking now. He poured more water into the pot for a second batch of coffee. his shoulders looked tense, Rosemary thought. but then, they always did. The sun was rising behind him. Man, South Dakota was beautiful.

"Alright Gramps, I'll go tend to my agricultural duties."

"Chickens are fed. They were pissing me off."

"Well thanks."

They really needed to built a wall. Their horses, cows and chickens basically ran free around the salvage yard, costing them far too much hay and being way too noisy. At night they went into the shed, but during day she wished she had paddocks for them over on the neighbour's property, safely fenced in.

Rose had named the two stolen cows R2 and D2. They'd slaughtered their calves a couple weeks ago, but they still gave milk, of which she relieved them now. The chickens, about 20, were all called Batman. And the four horses, rescued from a burning stable 50 miles out by Sam (Who the fuck would abandon their horses and set them on fucking fire? Rose had been pretty upset that week) she'd named Vera, Ljubov, Nadeshda and finally, Impulsa. Faith, Love, Hope and Heartbeat. 'Cause that was what they were riding on. Minus faith, maybe. Cas had been gone for 6 months. Another thing she tried not to think about. She let them all out of their makeshift stalls, pickung up five eggs that Bobby missed before.

When she came back she ran into poor little Sophia on the bottom step.

"Hey honey, what's wrong? Can't sleep anymore?"

"My tummy... where's Daryl?"

"He's in the room right next to mine ... where we slept. Come on, I'll fix you another bottle."

They walked out where Bobby was sitting on the bench, drinking his coffee and looking at one of his books.

"Hey Bobby," he looked up, "We got any dried Black Haw somewhere?" She asked while turning to the pot of boiling water.

"Hi kid ... yeah downstairs probably. Unless Sam burned it all off for that useless spell."

Rose clanked the silverware, frustrated. The boy was trying.

"Mind fetching me some? Sophia could use some tea."

"Black Haw? What for?" She shot him a look. "Oh. Sure."

Rose made a cup of tea and a hot water bottle, and when she heard Dean's heavy steps, she send Sophia back up to get another hour of sleep.

"Alright." Bobby growled as soon as Sophia was gone and the boys out on the porch. "We gotta talk, boys."

"Can we have some coffee first?" Sam looked dreary-eyed over to Rose, who was stirring in a pot of oatmeal and interupted herself to pour the Winchesters some coffee, along with R2's milk - D2's was needed to make some curd cheese later tonight.

"What do you know about this guy?"

"Um, he's got a crossbow, which seems pretty smart to me." Dean offered.

"Dumbass, we got a young woman here and you bring a stranger in who's obviously got some kind of military training and probably hasn't seen food or a girl in months!"

"Bobby, he's not gonna do anything to me."

"And how the fuck would you know that, Rosemary?" Bobby was _really_ angry. He was using her full name.

"He doesn't have military training, Bobby. And he doesn't look at me. He didn't even notice me til I pulled the bullet out of the boy. Calm down."

"He's some kind of redneck-survivalist" Sam chimed in "the kids aren't even his, he's just taking care of some orphans."

"We do have to get rid of him, though. And the kids." Dean said, making Rosemary cringe at the though of hauling that little boy on the back of a motorcycle - that was gonna hurt.

"Three more mouths to feed." Bobby worried.

"We've got more than enough for now, and I'm working on some shit. I can feed 'em til the boy can walk."

"He doesn't need to walk."

"Bobby, he knows where we are. All you can do is shoot him. Any other way, if he wants to stir shit up round here, he can."

"What's your proposal then, smartass?" Bobby spit out. Sam and Dean were looking down into their mugs.

"Look, we need more protected area. We need a wall, round the neighbours place, we need his well and we need the river and R2 and D2 are pissing me off."

"We can't built a wall. There's barely any iron left. Can't line it with salt, remember?"

Rose remembered. The Croats had gotten stronger over the months, salt lost its repellent effect. Dammit. No wall.

"Alright. but we agree we need more space and we need it to be fortified?"

The men nodded.

"Then how about we dig a ditch outside the fence? A proper moat?"

"What's a moat?" Dean asked. Still not quite awake.

Bobby sneered. "A deep protective ditch, idjit." They all fell silent.

"Could work, I suppose." Sam thought out loud.

"We put the guy to work with you digging the ditch, He'll be too tired come night to start anything. I'll take care of the kids until the boy is fully healed. Then we can have another family fight about this. Alright?"

Bobby surrendered, dropping his arms down to the table and shaking his head.

"Oh hey there!" Daryl almost turned back around at hearing her loud voice "Sorry, Daryl, right?" He nodded slowly.

"Take a seat, mate. The boys are out checking on some stuff..." Rosemary plunked a mug of coffee down in front of the guy.

"Ca.." he cleared his throat "Carl's not awake yet, and where's Sophia?"

"Carl probably won't wake up til tomorrow, with the amount of morphine in his blood . And I told Sophia to stay in bed all day long. She's being bitchy anyway, be glad to have her out of the way for today." Daryl looked down at his coffee.

"You need milk?"

"Lady, what is this? What did you call these things? What do you know about them?

Rose let out a quite sigh. "We know a lot about them. But I don't think I'm the right person to talk to. Maybe Bobby can explain the whole story to you at dinner."

Daryl just nodded slowly.

"Croats. We call 'em Croats, short for Croatoans. The boys have dealt with them before."

"So - " Daryl looked at the bowl of oatmeal Rosemary plunked down in front of him, topped with peanut butter and along with a glass of milk. "What is all this? We been going for months without seeing any real food. How come you're like a fully stocked supermarket out here in noman's land?"

"We saw 'em coming. Eat, and then I'll give you a little tour, alright?"

That guy was almost as grumpy as Bobby.

"Right," Rosemary pushed open the door to the shed "this is where the animals reside. We got 2 cows, 20 chicks, and 4 horses. You know how to ride? "

Daryl nodded.

"Great. I need some sheep, too. Lambs and milk for food and I'm pretty sure I can figure out how to make thread from the wool for knitting. Dean found an old weaving chair."

"This -" she pointed at the space between their house and the neighbour's "is the garden. We use everything we find out on the fields, but I grow tomatoes, cukes, lettuce, domestic shit like that out here. There are plenty of cornfields, wheat, sugar beet and all that around that no one needs anymore. And apple trees, cherries, plums. We're harvesting the oats soon, we could use you for that." Daryl looked confused between her tomatoes and her. "And hey, how good are you with a scythe?"

"Don't look too difficult to me..."

"Good. Cause Sam n Dean, they're good at digging, but I figure the first cut of hay would take 'em weeks, and I don't think we'll have weeks of sunshine."

"So..." Daryl scratched his chin. Rosemary thought he looked kinda cute now, in the sunlight, his face almost clean - some of the dirt seemed to have been permanently etched onto his skin - if in a grumpy-old-man way. Kinda like Bobby, only she'd totally do this Daryl Dixon guy.

"You can stay, if that's what you wanna know. Until Carl is fully healed. You'll need to pitch in though - the hay, we're digging a ditch around the property, and there'll be more."

"I can hunt." Daryl said after a pause. It didn't seem like a huge relief to him that he and the kids would get to stay at a safe place for a while, but then, why would it? Rosemary reasoned there was no need to be scared of the Croats anymore if you've kept your head above water for this long. Still, now she couldn't hold in a sneer.

"Sure you can." she replied, turning around to guide him away from the weapons they stored underneath the tractor.

"Been doin' it all my life."

"Tell you what, I'll have the boys explain to you what the word "hunting" means round here tonight, okay?"


	7. Smug Bastard

**YAY, sex! Alright, I have as much of a hard time writing the smut as anyone else, and I would've loved a beta for this - in fact, if anyone wants to be my beta, raise your hand! Also, thank you guys for the reviews! So, here's a little romp with Dean Winchester, expert hunter/sex god.**

Rosemary propped up her legs against the wall, lying flat on her back, in an attempt to get some circulation back in them.

"Sweetheart, that was hands down the kinkiest thing I've ever done" Dean muffled into her hair.

She giggled. "I know, right?"

"Sex in public? I mean, in front of Bo? And she can't even cover her eyes!"

"I think Bo Derek is the real pervert here."

"Think she enjoyed the show?"

"Well, I did."

"And that's all that matters."

Rose's feet played with the ancient poster on the wall of the panic room. She felt flushed, and, mostly, sweaty. Dean shifted so her head fell on his chest. He was in a playful mood, the cheeriest she'd seen him in months.

"So..." she asked while lighting a cigarette "the redneck-survivalist."

"Yeah. Dixon." He chuckled lightly.

"What do we think about him?"

"I think he's strange... but not dangerous. He's trying to keep his head above water. Manages fine so far from what I can tell."

"Looks like Sam and him really hit it off today, huh?"

"Yeah. Think my little sister might have a crush on him?"

Rose cracked a grin and tried to hit Dean on his stomach, but failed miserably.

"Don't talk about him like that. Asshole."

"Aw, come on, baby. They just seem to get on well, but there's nothing they have in common. Sam's a geek and that guy doesn't seem to have ever seen a school from the inside."

"Yeah."

"Honestly, when the shock wore off last night I was mostly pissed off because with the little girl here, we can't fuck in your room."

"Ha. I like the girl, and I really like this arrangement with Bo."

"Yeah, Bo makes it even better. But you like the girl cause you're such a sucker for kids."

"Oh, OH, I'm a sucker for kids?"

"It's the other way around in my case. Kids are suckers for me."

"That sounds wrong."

"Yeah. I get that." Dean played with her hair, letting his hand trail down on her sweaty face, to her throat.

"But that guy..." he went on, lightly tickling her throat, "you're not gonna fuck him, are ya?"

"Probably." Rose giggled at the shocked expression on Dean's face.

"Jesus. Rose." He abruptly pulled his hand from her, yanking up slightly.

"Jay-sos, Dean!" she mocked him, "but if we're gonna repopulate the world, I can hardly have only Winchester babies, now, can I? Plus, strong built! Good teeth! He'd make tough babies!"

"Oh so we're talking about kids now, are we?"

"Only cause you're one of very, very few men left. And I'm only gonna procreate with Sam and Bobby when there's seriously no other way left. That leaves you" she pulled him closer, "and the redneck. If he's not busy trying to impregnate darling Sammy."

"And you'd really need the good-teeth-genes" he said, leaning in, lightly kissing her neck right beneath her jawline, "cause you're English and your kids will be born with rotten teeth."

"That's … racism." Rosemary drew a sharp breath when Dean moved lower and sucked her left nipple into his mouth, between his damned pearly whites, at once. "Oh but with you..." she felt his hands, stills so rough her skin never got used to it, move along her sides, down to her thighs, "I'd have such pretty babies... green-eyed, pale-skinned, freckled..." her breath was starting to become irregular as Dean kept sucking on her nipple.

"Yeah, you would." he flashed a smile when she bucked against his hand, shoving two fingers inside her without so much as a warning. Rose gasped, reached out for him with both hands, but he leaned back slightly, playfully, not letting her grab him and kiss him as he knew she wanted to.

"Baby," he teased, moving his fingers in and out before going in, roughly, as deep as he could, holding still and then applying steady pressure to that spot he'd found so easily the first time she'd called him up to her bedroom, "You want something?"

"You not happy with this?" He moved his left hand up her body, enjoying the sight of her arching into his grip, lightly pinching her right nipple, and, as Rosemary again grabbed for his hand, easily wrestled both her wrists together into a firm hold, leaned forward and pinned them together over her head. "And here I thought I'd worn you out".

"I can go again" she panted, looking straight up into his eyes. They never left her's, still, every single time. It was one of Dean Winchester's qualities, among shooting, building things, some of which even worked, and looking out for his family, that he could make her feel like he penetrated both her pussy and her mind, with those piercing eyes looking right into her, and his dick...

When she managed to whisper "I was worried about you, old man." he pulled out his fingers and moved his hips toward her, not moving inside, but letting her know he had absolutely no problem going again. He played "just the tip" for a while, an annoying little game for Rosemary but one he particularly enjoyed, pulling out again and again, sliding the whole length along her folds, and smiling at her when he managed to find her clit with the tip of his dick, making her looks more begging, her breathing even unsteadier, and her hands fighting his a little harder.

"Babe I'd rather you let me blow you than" she gasped again. He was building pressure on her wet clit. "than... you playing with me like this..." She was about to try and tell him he was being unfair, that she didn't deserve punishment like this just for saying she'd repopulate the world (she actually really thought it was very nice of her to take that upon her) when he had mercy and pushed inside her, surprisingly gently as if he was still afraid he might hurt her. He let go of her hands, leaning down on her, and finally letting her kiss him – and she loved his kisses, the sweetness of pie, his soft, plush lips, and his tongue playing gently with hers, moving at the same pace as his hips. She writhed beneath him, while he whispered into her ear, sweet nothings, asking her to look at him, telling her how she tasted, how she felt, how it would feel when she clenched around him, how he adored her. It was sweet talk hundreds had heard from him, and she knew, knew because he never said "I love you", because he hit the spot so easily as if he'd rehearsed it all his life, but she had no trouble imagining all of these women had been turned on by this like her, had been reduced to a sweaty, flushed pile of raw nerve-endings and over-sensitized skin, marked by his calloused fingers and biting their lips trying not to beg for more, not to beg him to be rougher, harder, faster.

That would only make him pull back, kiss her, not even that, just brush his lips against her's, and let her beg some more, the smug bastard. She'd learned that early.

But now he grabbed her by the hips and turned her over, on her side, entering from behind her and finding her clit immediately, nubbing and rubbing it while – finally! - pounding her hard until she came, biting into his neck so she wouldn't scream. He kept going for a few seconds before pulling out and flipping her back again, she blindly reached for his dick, him still looking into her eyes, and tugged only twice until he came in long, hot spills onto her stomach.


End file.
